


The End of the Story

by inlovewiththeworld



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Gen, Grief, Post-Quest, Sad, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 08:42:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3804043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewiththeworld/pseuds/inlovewiththeworld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years after Frodo’s departure from Middle-Earth, Sam tries to give the Ring-bearer's story the ending it deserves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The End of the Story

Sam set his pen down with a sigh. It was done. He had begun to think he would never finish, that despite the long days and late nights spent closeted in his study he would never find the right words to end Frodo’s story, but he had managed it at last. The Ring-bearer’s tale was finally complete.

Sam reread the book’s final page, lingering over each word, letting them paint a picture in his mind. A soft smile crossed his face as he saw Frodo standing on the deck of the ship, eclipsing even the elf-queen with his radiance, sailing toward the setting sun. The pain of losing him had lessened through the years, enough that the memory of Frodo’s face could make him smile instead of weep. It had become the bone-ache of an old wound, rather than the twist of a knife. But it would never leave him completely. Not until he finished the journey he had begun so many years ago, and rejoined his master at last.

He caressed the page, as if he could reach through it to take Frodo’s hand one more time. But the words remained nothing but ink under his fingers. “I won’t leave you waiting forever,” he promised as he let the book’s cover fall gently closed. “When Rosie’s gone, when the children are grown, I’ll come.”

He closed the book and took it into his arms, as tenderly as if he held his master himself. The heat of midday had begun to fade into afternoon’s soft glow as he opened the back door and stepped into the garden. He took a long breath, savoring the scents of the flowers he had lovingly tended all these years. He had been cooped up inside too long, these past few weeks, struggling to get the end of the story exactly right. His garden had suffered while he had been distracted; he cringed to see the weeds that had sprung up in his absence, and the plants that had begun to shrivel from neglect. But for now he ignored their imagined cries for his attention as he walked the stone path to the familiar quiet corner in the back, where the tree he had planted had finally begun to grow tall enough to give shade.

He eased himself down to sit cross-legged on the grass, the book resting in his lap. The small tree’s branches brushed his shoulders like a comforting hand as he let his gaze wander. There, by the ivy, was the spot where Rosie had kissed him for the first time; and a little ways away, next to the small stone wall, Elanor had taken her first steps. If he looked through the window, he could see Rosie now, could almost hear her humming as she chopped vegetables for stew. His life in the Shire was everything he had dreamed of during those dark days in Mordor, everything he had hoped for on the nights he had struggled to keep the spark of hope alive within him.

It filled Sam with anger beyond reason sometimes, that Frodo had left all this behind. On the loneliest nights, he had to bite his lip to keep from shouting across the gulf that separated them, screaming protests his master would never hear. _Why couldn’t you see? Why couldn’t you stay?_ But even in those moments, he understood. He remembered the way Frodo would clutch at the chain around his neck, and the bleak loss in his eyes when he found the elven gem there instead of what he sought. The nights he would wake screaming, his hands pressed against his scars as if the wounds were fresh. The mornings Sam would come in to wake him and find him pale and shaking, eyes dark with the memory of nightmares.

Sam had done what he could. He had fed Frodo spoonfuls of broth when he couldn’t eat, had sung to him until the memories receded enough to let him sleep, had sat by him for hours in silence to drive away the darkness with his presence. But in the end, the only thing he could do was let him go.

“It’s not right, Mr. Frodo. After all you did for them, they should have taken you. They shouldn’t have left you here to—” His voice broke. He patted the book, its cover blurry now through tears. “But I set it right, as best I could. It’s all in here—the ending you deserve. I hope… I hope you like it.”

He laid the book down on Frodo’s grave and wept.


End file.
